


Just What Humans Do

by SuburbanSun



Category: Selfie (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Apocalypse, Awkward Dates, F/M, First Dates, trapped in a store
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-07 14:09:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5459258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuburbanSun/pseuds/SuburbanSun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were a number of things Henry expected to go wrong on his first date with Eliza. He’d made a list, in fact. </p><p>Strangely, an apocalypse was not one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just What Humans Do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miss_M](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_M/gifts).



> Written for [Miss M](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_M/pseuds/Miss_M) for this year's Yuletide! I picked your crackfic prompt, so I hope you dig it!
> 
> Title from Anything Could Happen by Ellie Goulding.

The first few hours were the hardest. At least for Henry.

As soon as they’d holed up in the deserted Costco (he tried not to wonder where Eliza had learned to pick locks so reliably, though he supposed he ought to be grateful for the seven different kinds of hairpins she kept tucked away in her purse for an emergency) shortly after the news had broken, he set about investigating their surroundings.

He catalogued the rows and rows of food, charted the aisles, and did his best to fortify the entrances and exits. The truth was that Henry had never fortified a thing in his life, short of his courage, with a shot of gin the first time he’d sung karaoke in college. So he did his best-- jammed brooms through the door handles, pushed up his sleeves and shoved a for-display-only patio table against the exit doors, Scotch-taped poster board over all the windowpanes so he and Eliza couldn’t see out-- and, more importantly, nobody could see in.

All in all, it was one of the oddest first dates Henry had been on in his life.

 

\--

 

“I’m bored.”

“We’re in a Costco, Eliza. There’s an entire section devoted to entertainment and games. Why don’t you pick one?” He looked over at her. They were sitting in the Outdoor Equipment section in matching, low-to-the-ground, green plaid lawn chairs, and she’d stretched her long legs out into the aisle.

“Oh, please.” She gave him a look he would have once found withering, but now found oddly cute. “I looked through the games while you were sealing up the doors. Our best options are Rubix cubes-- which, thanks but no thanks, I don’t need to relive my appropriately-named Homecoming night spent at home sophomore year-- and Monopoly-- aka the most boring game in the world, aka the game that never ends even if the world does, aka the game that breaks up relationships before they even begin.”

Henry opened his mouth and spoke before he gave any thought to what he was going to say-- something he found that he did more with Eliza than he’d ever done with anyone else in his life. “This is a relationship?”

Eliza held his gaze for a moment, her eyes wide. Then she quickly stood up from her chair and gestured toward the middle of the store. “I think I saw some playing cards though?” She edged out of the aisle. “Maybe?” She’d almost disappeared around the corner. “I hope?”

That was more like what he’d expected from his first date with Eliza, he thought, as he rubbed his temple. Complete and utter awkwardness. On both of their parts.

 

\--

 

Henry found a display radio in the electronics section, and tuned it to the only local news station he could find that was still broadcasting. The anchor’s tone was terse and tense.

“If you’re listening to this in your car, please find a place to pull over and seek shelter,” said the anchor. “We’re advising all area citizens to stay indoors as much as they can, in as secure a location as possible.”

With an eye to the store's entrance, Henry nodded to himself. There were much worse places to be stranded in the middle of a national (perhaps global? He’d have to try to find a station that carried world news) crisis than a Costco discount superstore.

“Henry, you better check yourself, because you’re not going to believe this,” said Eliza, plowing into the aisle where he stood, her eyes firmly planted on her phone screen. She’d pulled an oversized off-brand hoodie over her tank top, and there was no helping the corners of his mouth from quirking up at the sight of her.

“What am I not going to believe?”

“They closed the city.”

He frowned. “How do they close a city?” He frowned even deeper. “And who’s they?”

She huffed impatiently and plowed through. “The police, obvi. Or, I assume it’s the police? Maybe the National Guard?” She turned her phone to show him the screen-- a blurry Instagram photo of a group of men lined up in uniforms. “My ex-bestie's new bestie’s dog-walker posted this pic twenty minutes ago.”

He peered at the photo. “How bad can this so-called apocalypse be if Instagram’s still up and running? And how is it running, anyway? Even the phone lines are down,” he muttered.

“Hey,” she said, snatching her phone back. “Don’t knock Instagram. I have a network of literally hundreds of thousands who can show us what’s going on on the outside.” She shrugged. “Besides, don’t all the best apps have offshore servers? Maybe this ‘apocalypse’,” she said, putting finger quotes around the word, “is only happening in the U.S.”

He had to admit, she had a point.

 

\--

 

They’d eaten in hour five, digging into chicken salad and only-slightly-stale croissants with plastic cutlery in the bakery section. By hour ten, Henry was starting to feel peckish again.

“Eliza? How do you feel about a charcuterie plate?” he called out, picking up a summer sausage from a pile, a box of crackers already tucked under one arm. “What do you think-- brie or gouda?”

“Cheddar, please!” When she appeared around the corner of the aisle, she had an impish grin on her face and a bottle of wine clutched in each hand-- red in the left, and white in the right. Henry sighed heavily.

“Eliza, we cannot _get drunk_ while hiding out in a Costco.”

She sighed just as heavily, and even stomped her foot a little bit. “Why not? There’s literally nothing else to do here. There are a trillion TVs and they all just play the same video over and over and over.” She affected a blank smile, tilting her head to the side and stiffly imitating it. “Would you like picture-quality that rivals that of real life? Don’t blink!” She dropped the impression with a shake of her head. “It’s creepsville. And none of the DVD players are hooked up.”

“We could always, I don’t know-- hook them up ourselves?”

“Orrrr,” she said, stretching the word beyond its breaking point. “We could get drunk.”

Lately, he’d been thinking about the fact that he’d gotten worse at resisting Eliza over the weeks and months they’d gotten to know each other. In that moment, though, he didn’t know if he’d ever been able to resist her at all.

 

\--

 

“Truth or dare.”

Henry furrowed his brow, looking up from his collapsible camp mug of merlot. “What?”

Eliza raised an eyebrow, and reached out with her toe to nudge his leg-- they were in the lawn chairs again, this time having scooted them a little bit closer together. “You heard me.”

He had. “Truth,” he said, nearly biting his lip because wasn’t it just like him to always choose the safe option?

But she merely smirked. “What will you miss the most about civilized life? If we’re trapped in this Costco forever?”

“Well, I certainly don’t think this Costco can _actually_ sustain us forever…” He met her dubious eyes, and smiled sheepishly. “Maybe a really well-done, professional massage?”

She tipped back her head with a laugh. “You probably get regular massages, don’t you? Chart out your primary tension points with your designated massage therapist? Keep her on call for long weeks at the office?”

“You should try it. She’s life-changing.”

“Maybe I will.” The _if we ever get out of here_ was implicit.

“Truth or dare, Eliza?”

“Mmm, dare.”

He thought about it. “I dare you to... “ _Scoot your chair closer to me. Kiss me. Treat this like a real date, even though we were forced to hide in a closed Costco before we’d even gotten the late-night froyo you suggested after dinner._ “I dare you to… eat the rest of these crackers and try to whistle,” he finished lamely, mentally chastising himself, yet again, for being his typical self.

Though once Eliza’s cheeks were filled with crackers, and he was ducking and diving to avoid the crumbs shooting out of her pursed lips as she barely contained her laughter, he really couldn’t bring himself to regret issuing such a silly dare.

 

\--

 

“So.” He placed his hands on his hips, looking just to the side of her. “Sleeping arrangements.”

She crossed her arms and nodded sagely. “Bedtime.”

They weren’t drunk, having had a bottle of wine each over the course of a few hours, but they were no longer in the realm of the fully sober, either. Henry stepped closer to her. “There are… hammocks. On Aisle 11.”

“I thrash in my sleep, so that’s out,” she offered.

“...blankets on Aisle 18,” he continued. “We could build a nest.”

“I hate birds.”

He nodded crossly. “Me too. I mean, why perch on power lines when you can fly? It’s like they’re trying to show us up.”

She shrugged with one shoulder. “My sister got a tattoo of a bird on her shoulder, and I got one of a turtle. Ya know, because slow and steady wins the race. My mom grounded me for six months, but gave our grandma a framed photo of Bethany showing off her dumb old crow for Christmas.”

“...sleeping bags on Aisle 13?” he finished, wondering idly where her turtle tattoo was, where it even _could_ be given all the skin of hers he’d already seen.

“Ooh, I love camping.”

He furrowed his brow. “You do?”

“I’ll have you know, Henry, that I was a Girl Scout for years. Or, for a year. Long enough to earn my s’mores badge and my rolling-a-sleeping-bag badge.”

He chuckled. “So you’re saying you can put the sleeping bag away when we wake up?”

She mock saluted him. “Scout Eliza Dooley, at your service.”

He turned to find the row of sleeping bags, hoping to hide his smile.

 

\--

 

“Are you comfortable?”

Eliza shifted from her side to her back in the sleeping bag, tucking one hand behind her head and looking up at him. “It’s not 1,000 thread count, but it’ll do.”

He shifted from one socked foot to another (having taken off his shoes and tucked them underneath a row of birdfeeders for safe-keeping. He’d laid out his sleeping bag right beside hers, so close that their plastic zippers grated against each other when she changed positions.

“Lie down, Henry.”

So he did. Soon, he was tucked into a red sleeping bag, and she was tucked into her blue one. He stared up at the speckled ceiling for a few long moments, before rolling over onto his side, facing Eliza. After a beat, she rolled over, too, both hands tucked up under her cheek.

They just looked at each other, at first. Then Eliza spoke.

“Do you think we should be worried?”

Still feeling a bit sluggish from the wine, Henry took a moment to collect his thoughts. “About what’s going on out there?”

“Yeah.”

Her face was so open, so honest. He had to tell her the truth, so he nodded, slowly. “Yeah. I think, maybe.”

She nodded back, then let her eyes slip shut. He watched her for a few seconds, watched the way she burrowed her face into her pillow and the way a crease formed between her brows. Then she opened her eyes again.

“If I had to be stuck somewhere, I’m glad it’s with you,” she said, and he suddenly felt even warmer than the label on his Coleman Big Basin Extreme Weather sleeping bag had promised.

“Me too,” he whispered back. He didn’t close his eyes again until she closed hers.

 

\--

 

When Henry woke up-- completely disoriented, given the lack of natural light and the absence of his usual 5:30 a.m. alarm-- he found he’d scooted closer to Eliza in his sleep. Or she’d scooted closer to him. Either way, their separate sleeping bags were pressed up against each other, both of them lying on their sides with their arms clutched close to their chests, their foreheads just barely touching. At such a short distance, he could see all of her eyelashes, each of her freckles.

So of course, he choked on his own breath, coughed involuntarily, and woke her up.

“Henry?” She looked flummoxed, and then her eyes widened, a pleased little smile on her lips. “Did we…?” Before she could finish her sentence, though, he could see the memory of the previous 24 hours flooding back to her. “Oh. Right.”

He sat up in his sleeping bag, trying not to overanalyze the grin she’d briefly worn. “Do you want breakfast? There’s eggs.” He grimaced. “Not sure we have any way to _cook_ eggs, but… the fact remains, there _are_ eggs.”

“Mmm,” she grunted, before yawning hugely. “You. Pre-packaged bacon. Appliance section.”

It took Henry a moment to realize she was giving him orders, not listing out her suspected answers in a game of Clue. Once he did, though, he hopped to his feet, and returned minutes later with a paper plate of not-quite-sizzling bacon and another containing cold bagels and a container of cream cheese.

“The display toaster didn’t work, so... “ He shrugged, setting their breakfast down at the head of their sleeping bags. She shifted in hers, eyes now closed again.

“Hmm? Oh, right, I’m going to write Costco’s corporate office an angry letter,” she said sleepily, and he smiled.

“Bacon, Eliza. Get up.”

Her eyes still shut, she reached a hand out behind her, feeling along the cool tile floor before finally landing on a piece of bacon. She smiled as she munched it. “Breakfast in bed,” she said, once she’d finished her piece. “You must really like me.”

Henry tried to frown even as his cheeks heated up. He took a big bite of a cold bagel. Finally, she opened her eyes, and he swallowed. “I…”

Suddenly there was a loud knocking coming from the front of the store, an angry banging against the thick glass outer doors. “Is there an Eliza Dooley inside?” came a deep, booming voice. Henry jumped to his feet, followed by Eliza.

“Do you think it’s the police?” she asked.

“Who else would it be?” he responded, even as he tried to avoid thinking about who else it _could_ be. Together, they stepped slowly toward the front entrance to the Costco, neatly avoiding an empty graham cracker box (Eliza had obviously had to show off the skills that had earned her a s’mores merit badge) and an open packet of mini flossers (dental hygiene was no joke, even in an apocalypse, Henry had insisted). Once they reached the door, Eliza glanced at Henry, fear plainly written on her face. He gulped, trying his best to school his features into a reassuring stare, but truth be told, he felt a hell of a lot better when she reached over and grasped his hand.

“Who’s there?” she called, interrupting the incessant banging.

“It’s the police. We’re here to help you,” came the muffled voice from outside.

With a quick glance at Eliza to make sure they were on the same page-- she nodded, so it seemed they were-- Henry reached up and peeled the corner of one of the poster boards down. Once enough of the window was exposed, they could see that it _was_ the police, several of them, all dressed in tactical gear with serious looks on their faces. One of them flashed a badge at Henry and Eliza, and after another shared look and a nod, Eliza reached down and pulled the broom out from the door handles, opening the door.

“Are you Eliza Dooley, ma’am?”

“Ooookay, never a good idea to call her ma’am--” Henry began, hoping to cut off an angry Eliza rant before it began. When the main policeman just frowned, he stopped talking. “Sorry. Yes. That’s her.”

“We’re here to take you to a safehouse. Please collect any belongings immediately,” said the officer, glancing apprehensively behind him. That a cop in tactical gear with muscles the size of Henry’s face looked scared was enough to spur him into motion, and he turned back into the Costco, gently grasping Eliza’s elbow to pull her along with him. They gathered the things they’d come with (along with a few they’d picked up in the store over the past 24 hours) in rushed silence.

Finally, as they hurried past the cash registers toward the store’s entrance, where the team of cops awaited them with guns still held aloft, Henry asked the question he had been wondering for several minutes.

“How in the world did they know to find you here?”

As he and Eliza shuffled past the hot dog stand and the bevy of picnic tables, she shot him a glance that suggested the answer was obvious. “I couldn’t sleep last night.”

“So?”

She laughed, this time a real laugh, and his chest constricted at how pretty she looked, even sleep-mussed and stressed. “So I ‘grammed us.” She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone (still alive thanks to one of the three portable chargers she always traveled with), tapping quickly to pull up her latest Instagram post. It was a photo of the two of them, but not one he remembered posing for. Mostly because he was asleep. With his mouth wide open. And drooling. She’d edged into the frame with a big, if tired, smile and a thumbs up, and had captioned the photo, “Trapped with @hhiggs in a Costco! #discountsfordays #cleanuponaisle7 #itsnotsobad #couldbeworse #assumingwedontdie #ikindalikehim #kindawanttkeephimalive #sleepingbeauty #comerescueusk?,” and added the Costco they’d set up camp at as the photo’s location.

Henry regarded her as they walked through the big glass Costco doors, following the police officers to an SUV. They were quickly ushered into the backseats and handed tactical vests, “just in case.”

The officers in the front spoke quietly on their police radio, and the officers in the very back sat vigilant, looking out the rear window with stoic expressions. Sitting in the middle row of captain’s chairs, Henry reached across to grab Eliza’s hand, squeezing it with a pleased smile.

As they drew nearer and nearer to the safehouse, Henry’s mind focused on one thought:

Their first date may not have gone according to plan, but if they could just stay alive long enough, he was really looking forward to the second.


End file.
